


alas this is a new suit

by anthropologicalhands



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropologicalhands/pseuds/anthropologicalhands
Summary: Solo loses Gaby’s ring, and tries to save his clothes. Gaby and Illya are unimpressed.





	alas this is a new suit

Napoleon Solo was the best man he knew at saving his own skin.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t his skin that was in danger at this junction in time.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Peril,” he said, cadence as cool as ever, masking a true case of internal panic. “This is a new suit.

“I don’t think you understand, Cowboy,” returned Kuraykin, biting off the ends of his words with more force than usual. “That is a  _very_ valuable ring.”

“Even after you took out the pearl to put in a transmitter? Besides, I thought you were the kind of upstanding gentleman who would buy his fiancée a new ring if hers was lost.”

“The architect was. Illya Kuraykin is  _not_. Especially not when that particular ring has sentimental value, and is retrievable.”

“Then be my guest.”

“Not when you were the one who lost it _, Solo_ ,” snapped Gaby, one hand on her hip and the other holding her hat and fanning away the fumes wafting from the open sewer.  Considering they were fresh off a city-spanning chase by THRUSH, she remained remarkably put together. “Now stop stalling.”

He turned to her. “Why do you even want that ring back? It still had a transmitter in it. That’s not good for a budding relationship.”

“The transmitter is defunct,” she said, unimpressed with his logic. “I made sure of it.”

“That she did,” agreed Illya, and they stopped staring down Solo long enough to half-glance at each other and away. It was adorable.

Or it would have been, if his suit hadn’t been in danger.

“Still, I can’t say I quite under how this exact situation is  _my_ responsibility.” He tried again, despairing at the lack of quick escapes available to him. Red Peril and Gaby wouldn’t actually kill him—they were all too valuable to each other, especially in ways he did not examine too closely—but they didn’t mind roughing him up a little. And they certainly didn’t care about the pristine condition of his suit.

Illya’s jaw was clenched, head tilted to one side, and his arms were crossed, as if he were contemplating throwing Solo down the sewer himself. Solo stepped to the left, on the other side of the sewer, well out of reach.

Not that he would have much of a fighting chance if Gaby chose to back her fake (real? Solo wasn’t sure, and it seemed to be a point of contention between the couple as well) fiancé up and tackling him to the ground. Which was more likely than he cared to consider; Gaby’s own posture, even in two-inch heels and a gogo dress, was decidedly dangerous if she chose to charge.

Honestly, Solo hadn’t felt this trapped since the day the CIA caught up with him and he realized that his balls were about to be on the end of a very long leash held by a very short man.

(Peril had been on the money there)

“In my defense, the motorcycles did get us away from the villains,” said Solo, in a last ditch effort to charm himself out of an utterly uncharming situation. “You can’t deny it was a useful escape plan.”

“It was,” said Illya mildly, even smiling. “It was also agreed that you would hold onto Gaby’s ring while she made the repairs. Not lose it in an open sewer grate. Therefore, Cowboy,  _your_ responsibility.”

“I didn’t lose the ring. I made an exact note of its location. I simply do not understand why I am the one to retrieve it.”

“You do,” said Gaby, her smile far too sharp for Solo’s liking. There would be no swaying her—she wanted that ring back, and  _he_  was going to be the one to get it.

It was time to admit defeat. He heaved an extravagant sigh, pulled off his jacket and started undoing the buttons of his vest, determined that as many pieces of his wardrobe would survive

Gaby’s eyebrows went up at his little display. “Looking good, Solo.”

“Be quick, Cowboy.” Illya seemed less amused.

“I’m sending the laundry bill to the KGB for this,” Solo told him before descending, grimacing, into a hole of his own making.


End file.
